


Stopover

by PTWL



Series: Kinktober-2019 [21]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hand Jobs, Inappropriate Use of Mage Hand, Interracial By Fantasy Standards, Kinktober 2019, Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sailors, Tail Sex, inappropriate use of magic, more like tail masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTWL/pseuds/PTWL
Summary: Her Leske turns around ever so slowly and the Gods know there was a prayer caught in his lips when he looks up at her pleadingly. Lyona just dives in for a kiss and, as soon as she feels Leske move his hand up to cup her head, she moves out of his reach, standing up. Oh, he looks so cute when he’s annoyed. She stands closed to nibble gently at his wide nose with her fangs and Leske does that thing with his eyes, blinking confused.“Meet” Lyona smiles widely. “me” She gives the tip of his nose the softest poke ever been. “up.” And always up for some drama, she winks and turns around. Gods must feel merciful today because she manages to make it to the top of the stairs before cracking up like a mad-woman. She loves messing up with Leske and she is unquestionably lucky because Leske seems to adore it when she does so.[Day 22: Hand-jobs]
Relationships: Lyona/Leske, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, female tiefling oc/male dwarf oc
Series: Kinktober-2019 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1498526
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: Kinktober 2019





	Stopover

**Author's Note:**

> I AM ALIVE!  
> I won't be changing the date of this fic to adjust it to when I should have released it (like I did with most of the challenge) because I can't cover my shame anymore. Anyway, I've had a huge writer's block and I couldn't even finish the actual chapter I had to write so I began with the next and it'll try to finish it eventually. Now I'm stuck at home because my country is in quarantine so it's the perfect time to write.  
> I'll try to update as much as I can.  
> Enjoy some porn!

She is drunk. She can feel it in her own laugh when it rings carelessly and sweet. Oh, Leske has beaten her again. Though it is no surprise, he’s a dwarf, after all. She’s leaning on his wide shoulder, rosy face pressed flat against the top of his head, where his braids are tighter. He chuckles at her light drunken silliness and scratches the top of her head.

Feeling bold like this, she moves slowly until she’s next to his head, alcohol in her breath as she hums from that close. She can feel Leske stir and leave his tankard back on the table, giving his partner his undivided attention. Even if Lyona can’t see his smug face right now, she knows deep down the curve of his brows when she whispers wet: “Pay our shots and met me upstairs. I’ve got room for two.” She drags the words as if they were heavy in her lips, brushing against his ear-shell with every syllable with just the faintest dampness of booze in her skin. Pressed against his back as she is, she can feel the shiver that runs through his spine.

Her Leske turns around ever so slowly and the Gods know there was a prayer caught in his lips when he looks up at her pleadingly. Lyona just dives in for a kiss and, as soon as she feels Leske move his hand up to cup her head, she moves out of his reach, standing up. Oh, he looks so cute when he’s annoyed. She stands closed to nibble gently at his wide nose with her fangs and Leske does that thing with his eyes, blinking confused.

“Meet” Lyona smiles widely. “me” She gives the tip of his nose the softest poke ever been. “up.” And always up for some drama, she winks and turns around. Gods must feel merciful today because she manages to make it to the top of the stairs before cracking up like a mad-woman. She loves messing up with Leske and she is unquestionably lucky because Leske seems to adore it when she does so.

She gets comfortable as soon as she gets into their room for the night, pouring herself more wine and sitting in a comfortable armchair she spots in a corner. This is good! Not that she dislikes living aboard the Stormseeker but privacy is a beautiful thing, foreign for her and Lyona is going to squeeze every single minute of it. Who could blame them for spending their gold in a room for the night instead of making out on a hammock above a poor soul’s head? Who could possibly be that cruel?

Leske arrives soon after, opening the door slowly as if avoiding making any noise. He is so ridiculous. Lyona laughs at him, loud and clear, leaning on her armchair and glancing at him through heavy eyelids and white eyelashes.

“What’s wrong with you?” There’s a low giggle at the back of his throat, Lyona can tell when he draws near. He leans closer, arms toned and tan from working the ropes under the sun day after day. He’s slower than her climbing to the top but that’s because of his shorter legs and because Lyona has lived aboard the Stormseeker since the day she was born.

She gives in, a thin smile on her lips and kisses him fully now, cupping his cheek. Leske is still young for a dwarf. His beard doesn’t grow evenly yet so he shaves instead, which makes his mother, the quartermistress, tease him endlessly about it. He’s barely more than a boy according to her. He’s a few years older than Lyona, though they look roughly the same age to human standards.

Leske’s rough thick fingers comb her white hair, running close to her horns, holding her head until they both part for air. Lyona is still playing idly with the end of one of his dwarven braids, turning a metal bead between her fingers, when he combs a strand of her hair all the way down, parting away from her. “Come with me to bed.” He mutters, pouring himself some more and drinking it all in one go.

And it’s clear Lyona wants to join him but it’s way more entertaining to play with him. “You go first. I’m fine here.” He glances at her with raw curiosity in his gaze. He looks pretty confident that she’ll come to him eventually so he sits on the bed and frees himself from his salt-stained boots. Lyona just whirls her cup of wine from her seat. That brings him pause, confused. “Go on.” Her grin is thin and fox-like, the tiniest bit of a fang biting her pale blue lips. And that no longer brings Leske to a pause.

He’s so fast to undo ties and buttons, vest and well-worn shirt gone in record time. Lyona undoes her boots’ laces as well, keeping eye-contact even as she takes her socks off and curls her toes, groaning as she pulls a bit of a show. It works because Leske gulps and he stretches artificially, trying to show off somehow, before his fingers fight his buckle in a hurry, slowing down when Lyona sips from her cup and then mirrors his moves much slower.

She unbuckles her soft leather cuirass, sighing free from the pressure, and takes off her light padding. Meanwhile, Leske hooks his thumbs on the edge of his breeches, pulling down painfully slowly. _Too slowly_. Lyona thinks as she mutters a word of power with a subtle twist of her hand, helping the clothes off him to Leske’s pleased surprise. He cocks his head, smirking as he steps off the pants that poodle at his feet and moves to bed as Lyona continues to disrobe at her own pace, spectral hand kindly pushing his chest so he sits. The hand isn’t strong enough to force him down but that’s no issue if he wants it to.

Lyona can feel the ghostly touch of Leske’s skin through her magic link as she opens her shirt. Leske turns on his side to look at her as he runs his hands up and down his arms, stretching in bed for her. The faint blue hand caresses his chest and cups one of his pecs with a feather-light touch. The cantrip can’t hurt him but Lyona has great control over the basic trick and she can play around its limits. With enough concentration, she can keep casting it until the hand only banishes shortly between each spell, for less than a second. She runs a nail of her mage hand into Leske’s nipple as he hums, hands grabbing his hips and thumb drawing circles on his hipbone in a show.

He thinks he’s got her now. So cute. Lyona smirks wide and takes a longer sip as she runs her phantom fingers over his chest, tips curling his dense chest hair here and there. Her tail is swinging from her seat, much like a smug cat’s as it stares out of the window. Her tail takes after her father’s: long and wide, with the tip flat on one side and zigzagged in the other. Even if Lyona’s ridged shapes are curvier and smoother. She finishes her cup under Leske’s desperate gaze and leaves the cup aside. The fool sighs in relief, shortly thinking she’ll be sparing him. Lyona unbuttons her breeches and relishes in her partner’s heated stare at the patch pale short thick hair at her crotch as she kicks the offending piece of clothes out of her legs.

But instead of walking toward Leske to straddle him, lining his cock with her entrance with her mage hand, Lyona sits back in the armchair. Well, ‘sitting’ is far from what she does. Lyona lays casually, lounging like a housecat. Her legs rest over one arm, feet swinging lightly in a childish manner; elbow on the other arm and glancing at the room innocently. Leske doesn’t fail her and he grunts in despair when she bats her eyelashes, doe-eyed and sweet. It means a cheeky _‘Were you waiting for something else?’_.

Leske glares daggers at her but then her mage hand arrives from its slow journey through his front and fingertips identical to Lyona’s play absent-mindedly with his pubic hair. Lyona keeps on renovating the spell over and over again and it’s not rare for the ghost hand to phase slightly over some light materials though she’s pretty sure it must be a foreign feeling for Leske, who isn’t a magic caster himself though he knows no shortage of them as he lives aboard Stormseeker too. His head falls back into the pillows with a deep groan and he rolls his hips into hair, searching for the barely visible force.

She smiles at his attempt and finally, finally, allows him to have some small peace. Lyona is careful as she closes her ghostly fist around him, doing her best to hide when she has to let the spell go before casting it anew. It seems to work because Leske moans appreciatively at her concession, lifting his hips only a few inches off the mattress and thrusting into her touch, much colder than from her actual hand but her touch either way.

Lyona moves out of instinct, white eyes fixated on her partner. Leske is certainly something. Sort of shameful, sort of a scoundrel and certainly sort of a soft momma’s boy. Salt dwarves are tan and sturdy, fingers thinner and more dexterous than most of their people. Their hair is often dark and their eyes pale. Her Leske is no different. His braids are made to last amidst many days of hard work overseas. Leske once told her she was made of Summer breeze. She called her ‘cheap corny fucker’ with her sailor’s tongue but it wasn’t only laughter that made her cheeks go lilac.

Something has warmed inside her and the itch and dampness between her thighs are beginning to distract her. Even more distracting is the sight of Leske sighing with his eyes closed as he lazily rubs himself down, hand over hers to guide her strokes until they are just as he likes them best. His voice is raspy when he takes a mouthful of air. Lyona has to blink, dazed. And here she thought she was already used to her partner.

She gives in a tad further. She can no longer ignore her own heat. She needs at least one hand to keep the spell on loop, preferably both of them, so she decides a trick as old as time would have to do it. Lyona does her best to focus on the spell as her usually lazy tail snakes where she needs it most. The worst of it all is that she knows she can’t overdo herself if she wants to keep concentration. Most magic mentors teach you how to endure pain or stress to maintain an effect with residual energy until it drains off but none of them dare to expand their knowledge and control into other fields and Lyona has never been more bothered by their lack of resourcefulness until she grinds the tip of her tail into her lips, drenching it and running its ridges up and down her clit. Distracting is no way close enough to describe it.

And Leske must have realized something is off because he has opened an eye and stares at her with a wide smile on his lips. He is pumping himself harder now. It’s Lyona’s turn to give him her best death glare. He has the audacity to laugh at least until Lyona regains enough control to cast back mage hand. She grasps him tight, faster, as far as she dares to without hurting him, even if he often boasts about being hard to crack.

At least, he groans an almost pained sound, fist still curling over the hand, until it’s just as he needs it. Lyona watches in awe as his back tenses over the mattress, frowning and clenching his jaw until he sighs. It’s a strange feeling: her hands are dry even as she can feel his spent on the hand for the short seconds until she de-casts it. Leske has covered his eyes with his forearm and he grunts in disapproval at the loss but it’s not like he can do much about it but complain.

Finally free too, Lyona parts her legs slightly and closes her eyes as she very consciously presses her tip deeper, cartilage ridges parting her soaking folds with ease. She feels like she could take care of her issue pretty quickly. Especially now that she has two hands as well. However, Leske’s whistle draws her away from her trance. She cracks a pearly white eye open, brows furrowed in that annoyance you only feel with your usual partner when they interrupt you. “What now?” She growls, far less intimidating than what she tried to aim for.

That only seems to amuse Leske further. He looks good with his braids combed back and forehead shiny with fresh sweat. There are a few obvious stains on his low abdomen, sticking to coarse dark hair. “Lyona, I’m of the blood of the rock. Come here to me.”

And Lyona’s glare must be a starving one because Leske looks taken aback for a moment before standing up and offering her his help up the armchair, already up for a second round. Dammed blood of the rock. Nine Hells. If the Gods didn’t make her strong enough to resist, who is she to try when she doesn't even want to. She reaches for her Leske’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Leske is Qora's eldest child while Lyona's mother used to work aboard Stormseeker too and her father is a minor officer's youngest brother. Her father, Aurane will appear in a future work with his usual partner.  
> These two are the kind of couple that's excessively touchy and flirty in public to everyone's distaste.  
> Let me know how my great return came up?


End file.
